


Greatest Hits Collection

by levendis



Series: Prompt Fics [94]
Category: Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 07:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8154539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levendis/pseuds/levendis
Summary: for anon, who prompted: for chubby x diesel muscle, how about Six x Captain Jack?





	

“What’s a boy like you doing in a dump like this?”

 _Boy?_ Really now. “Drinking tea,” the Doctor said. Obviously. He glanced meaningfully at the mug rapidly cooling in front of him, and then glanced over at whatever creature was rude enough to intrude upon this, his hard-earned respite from the cruelties of life. “Alone,” he specified.

The creature was human-ish, youngish, with an expression that implied he knew something the Doctor didn’t and found this fact immensely amusing. “Feel up to some company?”

“It depends on who’s asking, I suppose,” the Doctor said. He slurped deliberately, noisily at his tea.

“Consider me a friend you haven’t met yet.” The man grinned wide, all teeth and plastic charm.

The Doctor looked at him, really looked: ah. The unmistakable aura of a time-traveler. One of _his_ time-travelers. And something else, something unsettling. “You really are, aren’t you.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny that allegation.” The man grinned again; that had apparently been a joke. He shoved his hand out and grabbed the Doctor’s, shaking it enthusiastically. “Captain Jack Harkness.”

The Doctor suppressed a grimace, staring down at the entirely overmuch handshake that was, somehow, still going on. Politely, he waited for it to stop, and then withdrew his hand, wiping it discretely on his trouser leg.

So they were like _that_ , then. In the future. Him and this Captain.

“I’m the Doctor,” the Doctor said, although surely this man already knew that.

“Yeah,” the Captain said dreamily. “You really are, aren’t you.”

The Doctor drew in a breath, preparing to say something impossibly witty, and then - of course - all hell broke loose.

 

* * *

(His calculations _may_ have been slightly off - the reality bomb jittered around the timeline, delicately slipping off thousands of shifting facts, and it was an incredibly artful move getting as close as he did. Still, he’d expected the explosion to occur a few spans later. Possibly, probably, the result of a new variable. Regardless. He instinctively grabbed the Captain’s hand, and they ran, and it was all a bit of a blur after that.)

 

* * *

The Doctor brought him back to the TARDIS, watching his face as they stepped through the doors. No surprise at the bigger-on-the-inside; something bittersweet in its place, happy but a little disappointed.

He wasn’t the right Doctor, then. Again.

“So in the future,” he said. “We, ah.”

“Travel together, yes.” The Captain ran a hand over the central console, keys and levers clacking almost imperceptibly beneath his fingers.

“More than that, I mean.”

The Captain shrugged, avoiding the Doctor’s eyes. “That’s a nice thought, but no. We just. We meet, once or twice.”

“Are you sure? You practically molested me, that indicates something more than ‘meeting, once or twice’.”

“Sorry?”

“You should be, yes.”

The Captain shook his head, clearly adrift in this conversation. “No, no, I mean. What? When did I practically molest you?”

“At the cafe.” The Doctor sighed, pantomimed a handshake.

The Captain squinted.

“The handshake,” the Doctor specified.

“Oh,” the Captain said, and started laughing.

The Doctor waited patiently for him to stop. “Finished?” he asked, tapping his foot.

“Yeah, yeah, just about,” the Captain huffed out, wiping his eyes.

“Captain-”

“Call me Jack.”

 _Fine._ “Jack. I - ” He abruptly ran out of steam. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Quick, quick, make something up, just open your mouth and let words happen. “I’m sorry,” he said. Pardon?

“You don’t even know what you did. Do. Will have done. One of those. Time travel tenses, not my strong suit.” Jack grinned, far more forced than before. And it’d been fairly forced then.

One of these days, he’d stop making this sort of mistake. One of these days he’d meet someone and not wind up breaking their heart, losing them, abandoning them. Apparently that day was quite far away. “I’m sorry,” he said again, reaching out and covering Jack’s hand with his, coaxing him to turn it over. Palm against palm, the interweaving fingers. A rusty, half-forgotten motion.

Jack swallowed hard, and rallied equally, his face blanking back to that plastic charm. “Don’t worry about it. What’s important is that we’re here, now.” He slipped his hand from the Doctor’s grasp, ran it up his wrist, gentle but firm under his cuffs.

“We certainly are,” the Doctor said. And he smiled, as Jack lifted his head and stared back at him frankly, defiantly.

 

* * *

(It was a terrible mistake. He made it anyway.)

 

* * *

So they were like this, then. In the future. Not precisely - he was the wrong Doctor, after all - Jack was exploratory, constantly charmed by each new discovery.

“I like the curls,” he said, threading his hands into the hair at the back of the Doctor’s head, pulling until he elicited the reaction he wanted. Evidently expected.

“Thank you,” the Doctor said, preening.

Jack pulled away, grinning, and took his shirt off dramatically. Also preening. Flexing. Humans did such interesting things to their bodies, for reasons frankly beyond the Doctor’s ken. This human had the bulky, obvious muscle not borne from physical labor but from some odd sort of vanity. Clearly, the Doctor was meant to be impressed.

They never understood, did they. How little a body really mattered. The Doctor, who had been through several bodies at this point and only vaguely understood the offering that was made, delicately brushed his hand over Jack’s abdomen. “You’re certainly very, ah. Hard.”

“Tell me about it,” Jack said, thrusting his hips forward.

Right. That bit. Did he still have the required parts? He’d tacked them on a few regenerations ago, although they hadn’t seen much use.

Going by Jack’s murmur of approval: yes, still there.

“You, though,” Jack said, his hands on the Doctor’s hips, grinding against him. Hips and then up, settling on the Doctor’s waist, squeezing gently. “You’re - soft. It’s nice.”

“It’s irrelevant,” the Doctor replied, sorting out the variety of reactions his body was having. And on a higher, more refined level: the line of him against this human-ish creature, time and self and the balance, the friction between them. History adjusting to this, to them.

“Still nice,” Jack murmured, sliding his hand under the Doctor’s shirt, held tight between cloth and skin. Fingertips pressing delicately, hesitantly into his belly. And the odd, sharp intake of breath upon successfully completing this activity.

Humans. “Presumably you want me to be undressed for this,” the Doctor said.

Jack nodded. It was how his kind communed, after all. In for a penny, in for a pound. The Doctor unbuttoned his vest, pushed his braces down, unbuttoned his shirt; Jack took the opportunity to reach up and tweak the Doctor’s nipples. Another thing humans liked, apparently. The Doctor sucked in and undid his trousers - this body might have drifted a bit beyond the original specifications - and Jack _hmmm_ ’d and shoved his hands between the Doctor’s legs.

Yes, he did still have a cock. Currently straining against Jack’s hand. Was Jack going to kiss him now? They tended to, once this point had been reached. And going by the look on Jack’s face - yes, there it was, the mouth thing.

Humans enjoyed this. The Doctor wasn’t going to judge. He waited patiently, and let his mind rest against Jack’s. Quid pro quo. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Jack said. On his knees, now, his breath wet and warm on the Doctor’s cock, which twitched at its own accord. “You always are.”

“I know,” the Doctor said, and flinched as Jack swallowed him whole. Half in his body, half out. The anxious slide of whatever Jack was against him, and the spit-slick movement of his mouth around him, and a thousand possible futures spilling out. As it would be, as it might be. The Doctor got the sense that he was somehow making up for a misdeed he had not yet committed. This strange, half-broken creature prostrate before him.

He tried to come in a meaningful way. Jack seemed satisfied, going by the cat-who-ate-the-canary look on his face.

“I forget this,” the Doctor said. “Don’t I.”

“Sorry, but. Yeah. You’ll have to.”

“Retcon?”

“Already took it,” Jack said. He licked his lips. Oh. It was like that, then. “We’ll wake up and we won’t remember this.”

So what was the point? What was the fucking point? “Of course,” the Doctor said tightly. The familiar welling-up of self-pity.

Jack reached out, his hand on the Doctor’s face. Fingers on the pulse-point behind his ear. “Still worth doing, though. And, maybe we will remember. Just a bit. Just in dreams. Better that than nothing.”

“Certainly better than destroying the fabric of space and time because you couldn’t keep your prick in your pants,” the Doctor said, almost fondly.

Jack grinned, and kissed him. Softly, lovingly, an apology and a forgiveness behind his lips. The Doctor smiled back, and waited patiently as his consciousness slipped out from under him.


End file.
